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After the Fourth Great Shinobi World War ended, the world was experiencing a time of peace. The villages for once were able to live in relative harmony with one another as they rebuilt, and for once, all seemed to be well. The kage were able to live peaceful lives and soon began retiring, passing on the baton to the next generations. That is until an unknown virus infects the northern coast. The first to fall is the once powerful Raikage, Ay. While many thought this virus was a simple mutation of what may have well been the flu, no one would ever think of the destruction it would cause. Especially when it infected a certain Uzumaki Naruto.
With his death came the malice; with the malice came the destruction; with the destruction came the shinobi' revolt; and with the revolt came the sacrifices. The Bijuu became filled with malice that they sought to destroy the world. Shinobi sought a way to fight them and once again capture each of the Bijuu. Time passed, and a plan was devised. The Jinchuuriki would be sacrificed for the greater good of the world, and with the deaths of nine individuals, an uneasy peace began.
As time continued, the villages began to truly restructure. In a peace that would last 80 years after the downfall of the Bijuu, the world would see the creation of a great many things. Technology was beginning to take root and before long the blossoms that grew from the tree of the advanced mind would bear fruit. A many great things came to be. A railroad between the vast many nations. Mechanical limbs to replace lost ones. Radios that could reach between villages. Everything seemed to be becoming less reliant on the shinobi. Only the need for them never truly vanished. As with the growth of time, also continued the growth of malice.
Setsuna had a variety of nifty ninja gadgets at his disposal. His personal favorite were his ninja swords because, let’s be honest, ladies love the swords. His were big AND he knew how to use them to boot; what more could you possibly ask for? They sliced, they diced, they served as makeshift barbecue skewers when he forgot to pick some up at the market. They only thing that they couldn't do was pleasure a woman; at least, he assumed as much. He wasn't particuarly eager to experiment and find out.
Of course, he couldn’t forget his ninja shurkien, ninja smoke bombs, ninja knives, ninja shoes, ninja boxers… god damn, he was decked out in everything ninja. Only the best of the best; after all, who knew when he’d need to cut something down to size?
For instance, he had decided to hit up the training grounds this particular morning. Why? Well, why else but to fight? He hadn’t had a serious fight in ages, and this was one of the few places he could go and kill things without having to really worry about dying. Well, technically his clones were the ones who did the dying. He just ran around doing flips and shit, and generally looking like a badass. Sure, the psychological implications of this particular training method were somewhat startling (considering he was killing himself, in a sense), but hey, he was never one for the whole psycho-babble stuff.
He couldn’t believe there were so many people out today. As he passed through the various sections of the training area, he caught a few glimpses of the ongoing fights. Men, women, and children all flipping around, clashing in bouts of taijutsu and bending the very elements to their will. Any other day, he would have stopped to take in the spectacle. Even if the combatants weren’t that skilled, he could always get a giggle out of someone getting their ass handed to them on a silver platter.
Alas, today was not one for such frivolities. As much as Setsuna loved sitting around doing nothing, he did have a sense of duty. Said sense unfortunately contributed to what he had deemed the “voice of responsibility” that occasionally reared its ugly head. It whispered to him in the darkest depths of the night, commanding him to live up the expectations of his post. Normally he could just ignore it, and a send a couple of his clones in his place to tidy up his kenjtusu or work on developing new ninjutsu. But when he awoke earlier in the morning, he’d had the overwhelming desire to get out and personally train.
He was convinced it was because of the sake he drank. Someway, somehow, his hangover had been replaced by a desire to be productive. And he hated it.
Hell, it took a lot of effort on his part to even get remotely interested in training these days. Too many years of running for his life and cutting down missing-nin like overgrown grass had left him tired, so very tired. These days he just wanted to life down, sleep, eat, and occasionally flirt with a pretty girl. But every so often he had to lift his sword, whether it was to keep his skills from rusting over or to satiate a particularly nasty craving, and when he did it was never a minor incident. No, it was more like a tactical nuclear strike.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love his life. He couldn’t imagine being anything else other than a shinobi – but sweet kami, his life had stagnated these past couple of years. It was why he’d taken it upon himself to become head of a genin team. He needed something new and engaging, something he could pour his efforts into and provide some new excitement.
The brunette blinked, abruptly realizing he was in the middle of a completely empty field. Well hey, that worked. Setsuna cracked his neck and let his coat slip off his shoulders and fall on the barren earth beneath his bare feet. Time to get started.
Seichi's voice rang out as sandal collided against the worn-down side of a log, swinging by a single rope that had been fastened to it. Quickly, he bounced off of it and flipped, narrowly avoiding another two logs that collided with one another a few inches below him. He'd known exactly where they would fall, not only because he'd put them there himself, but because the world around him couldn't seem to keep up with him. With his cold, vibrant red eyes, the logs were moving at a stand-still compared to himself. He landed, crouched, with a hand on the ground to support himself. More logs spiraled in from the sides, and one by one, the loud sound of wood being knocked away with surprising force. This was Seichi's training routine. The training grounds were very busy today, but Seichi never had anyone to train with. Never. Sparring partners were a thing of fiction to him, and so he constructed this system instead. It wasn't perfect, and it was rather short, but it worked, sort of. One had to make do with what they could, however they could, and Seichi wasn't going to stop just because he didn't have an actual person to beat up on.
"SENPUU!"
Small twigs and leaves rose from the ground as he swept it with his leg, knocking all of the logs away. He was breathing heavily now, but he wasn't tired. He could go on like this for at least another few hours - his training had just begun. But he would have to set up the logs again. These breaks in his training were very disillusioning, and often broke his tempo. Perhaps he should try somewhere else? He sat down for a moment, collecting his breath. He didn't want to move the logs. He didn't want to kick them anymore, either. Their bark was already stripped and cracked and broken and worn out from repeated use, he would have to get new ones soon. But should he? He didn't want to bother. Looking around, he avoided looking at the other people training, and instead fixated on an open field not too far off from him.
Standing up, his Sharingan faded, and he began the trek outward. He arrived at the clearing just as another shinobi did, a few meters away. Seichi narrowed his eyes. The man looked older, but he didn't scare Seichi off. Seichi didn't move a muscle.
Silent, he stared, trying to think of something to win him the space. He thought of nothing.
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